


Prices Paid

by razielim



Series: Merry Smutmas 2017 [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Prolapse, Anal Sex, Bestiality, Gang Rape, Gore Mentioned in Memories and Thoughts, It Pronouns for Humiliation, Locked in Stocks, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild Blood, Oral Sex, Painful Sex, Public Humiliation, Punishment, Spitroasting, watersports mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razielim/pseuds/razielim
Summary: Merry Smutmas, isfinn!His entire life, Lotor has known nothing but neglect and indifference from the people who were supposed to care for him and love him. When Zarkon announces Lotor’s horrific punishment to the jeering crowd, Lotor is neither surprised nor angry. What infuriates him is the surprise he feels emanating from his own generals who brought him as a prisoner to Central Command. Did they think he would be merely executed? How disgustingly naive.Squick Warning for vague gore mentions. Aside from some minor bleeding, nothing gory actually happens.However, Lotor spends a lot of the ficfearinggore, imagining it, and remembering witnessing it happen to others as he thinks about the worst case scenario of what might happen to him. It's not very gruesomely detailed, but it's there. If either bloody rape or gore mention sounds like it might upset you, best to skip this fic.





	Prices Paid

Lotor wanted to spit in their faces.

He was being manhandled forward to endure the greatest humiliation and pain of his life, and his generals had the gall to stand there looking shocked.

Ezor and Zethrid even look like they might kick up a fuss. He hoped for their sakes that Acxa was at least smart enough to prevent _that_. On the other hand, a small, spiteful part of him hoped they would have to endure some sort of punishment from his father too.

The stocks had been pulled out into the center of the throne room as soon as Zarkon had started talking, which surely meant that all the commanding officers who had filed into the throne room upon their small group’s arrival had known exactly what the decree was about to be. He thought about their smug faces when his father had asked him what Lotor had to say for himself. The way they’d smirked when he’d given his last desperate attempt for an appeal, knowing even then that it was hopeless, but having no choice if he wanted to avoid being executed on the spot and lose all hope for survival.

He wanted so badly to kick and dig his heels in and have a tantrum as he was pulled forward, but he couldn’t so much as open his mouth or lock a knee, awash in numb dread and disbelief.

He’d always known something like this was possible. He’d even, conceptually, once, admitted to himself that this exact thing _had a very good chance_ of happening to him someday. He’d been far from surprised when he’d caught sight of the stocks and a few minutes later heard Zarkon’s terrible concluding verdict.

But actually living this moment — the polished floor slipping past under his boots, the fear burning the shells of his ears, the spectators’ roars merging to a white noise — was more horrific than anything he could have ever imagined in the dark of the night while unable to sleep.

His armor was ripped from him easily, no honor or dignity respected. In their eyes, he had already lost both of those long ago, when he’d first plotted against Zarkon.

What did the people in this room know of honor, anyway? What did they know of dignity? They’d sold both when they decided to never challenge the status quo, all to protect their own hides. Lotor would hang onto these things until the bitter end. He’d lock them deep inside where no one could get to them.

His mind was far away, on the Blade of Marmora, as his eyes watched his wrists shackled into the first row of the device, the scene distant and glassy like it was happening to someone else.

Should he have joined the Blade instead of trying to take down the empire on his own, with just four generals and sheer nerve? Would it have made a difference? Would he have died a different death? Perhaps not. But maybe he would have had a chance to know more characters of substance before his untimely demise. Maybe he would have achieved more, thrown a bigger wrench in his father’s generators.

He was, _“a black mark on the history of the empire,”_ was he?

Lotor only wished he could have made a bigger stain, more difficult to wash out.

That was probably what hurt most, he thought as his ankles were secured somewhere behind him in the other half of the device. All this horrible punishment, and he’d achieved nothing, only managed to annoy his father. History books would describe the next three hours of his life in more eager, lascivious detail than they would the past ten thousand _years_ of his life.

His rape might merit a whole page of writing.

His rebellion would be a footnote.

There came a resounding crack, and Lotor yelled out in pain before he even registered the stinging pain across his ass-cheek and thigh. Then the sting dissipated into a heat across his entire left leg, and Lotor knew that he’d been marked with the whip, officially signifying him as available to anyone who wanted to approach him.

He figured there would be no more daydreaming after this. From here on out, everything would hurt too much to pretend it wasn’t real.

He stared wildly out at the crowd, grateful to the shield of his long hair that had fallen over his face.

No one came forward.

The cheering had all died down, and now everyone in the throne room seemed to realize that one of them had to be the first to defile the son of the emperor. The respect that none of them had given to Lotor in his entire life's span of ten thousand bitter, isolated years suddenly seemed to have given them cold feet.

Lotor was certain that if Zarkon himself wasn't present, no one would have hesitated a single tick.

It was Sendak who stepped out first.

Lotor had heard the report that Sendak had been recovered from deep space, but hadn’t yet laid eyes on the commander himself.

But here he was, his father’s favorite soldier, druid tech arm missing, a few new scars, but alive and well. If anyone had nothing to fear from accidentally vexing Zarkon by being the first to rape Lotor, it was Sendak. A murmur flitted around the room and then exploded into a roaring cheer as Sendak approached the stocks and then disappeared from view behind Lotor.

Lotor wished he was simply taken on the floor, the way prisoners on battle cruisers were often punished, not in all of this ceremonial bondage, his neck and wrists trapped in one panel, his hips and ankles trapped in another so that all of his body could be used and dirtied. He couldn’t move or see much of anything.

It was horrifying to not be able to see the claws that Sendak stroked over his backside, almost contemplatively. Lotor would kill to know what expression Sendak was wearing as he took in Lotor’s vulnerable ass.

He wanted to know what to expect.

Was Sendak perhaps possessed of some pity or empathy after all? Was he doing this because someone had to be first? Was he doing it to get back in Zarkon’s good graces after failing to capture Voltron? Was he doing it simply because he’d always wanted to? Was this a final victory for him over the son whose place he’d always been positioned to usurp?

The outcome would be the same, but Lotor had always been the type to care more about motivations. You could bear anything if you at least knew why it was happening.

It killed him now not to know why Sendak was about to rape him just as much as it had always killed him to not know why his father had no love for him.

There wasn’t any warning or warming up. Galra felt no discomfort at forcing their cocks into someone. Sendak simply pushed his already slick glans against him, and Lotor, with utter resignation, accepted before the serrated head could do any real damage to his rim.  

He’d served in his father’s army long enough to know what happened to those condemned traitors who tried to resist penetration.

If Lotor was going to die, it was going to be through formal beheading, not bleeding and disembowelment out of his ass because he was stupid enough to think he could clench and win against a Galra cock.

Lotor fought with himself to make the rest of Sendak’s thrust into him as unimpeded as possible, but his body was neither experienced in this, nor relaxed enough to make it an easy task. Especially with only the minimal lubricant of their natural fluids to take the edge off the friction. He could feel something hot roll down his taint to his balls, and, screwing his eyes shut in terror, he hoped desperately that Sendak was the type to leak a lot of pre-come very quickly.

Still Sendak pushed deeper, the rings of Lotor’s internal muscles yielding to him one at a time. Lotor imagined his insides shying away from that dangerous cockhead but he doubted it worked like that. Rather, more likely, Sendak was slowly ripping him to shreds and Lotor simply couldn’t feel it yet, the pain of the stretch masking the pain of the tears.

Sendak stopped, and with a shock, Lotor realized that he could feel Sendak’s furry abdomen tickling the skin covering his tailbone.

He gasped, suddenly remembering to breathe, and only then noticed how quiet the room had gotten, only an odd buzz of conversation here and there.

Then the laughter started.

Sendak laughed loud and deep, the shaking of his chest reverberating into Lotor, emphasizing the intrusion. Other nervous chuckles answered him from the crowd.

“You’ve done this before,” Sendak said in a carrying voice and more snide laughter sparked up.

Lotor’s breath caught in his chest.

What?

“Who’s had you before, Lotor? How is it you take dick so easily without any coaxing?”

“I have not!” Lotor hissed back, wishing he could look over his shoulder to glare at the commander and ask what he was playing at.

But Sendak’s dick came out in a swift, fell pull and more chatter broke out, large guffaws shaking the room.

“There’s no blood!”

“The prince was a pillow prince in addition to traitor?”

“Everyone bleeds!”

“Sendak is massive! If you don’t bleed from that, you don’t bleed from anything!”

“Should have known, with that build.”

“Is there anyone here who _hasn’t_ fucked the prince yet? Raise your hand if you’ve never stuck your dick in him because I’m feeling somewhat left out!”

The laughter now bounced from every corner of the room, and through the noise, Lotor heard his father say, “And I thought he could disappoint me no further,” which only raised the volume.

It wasn’t true.

It was simply not true.

He wanted so much to cry, to break down and beg, insisting he’d never done anything of the sort before, but giving them supporting evidence, clenching down and letting Sendak hurt him, was out of the question.

He’d made his decision — he would not die in these stocks. So when Sendak pushed in again, smoother now that there was more precome oozing between them, Lotor screwed his eyes shut and continued to not resist, allowing Sendak to again unlock the rings of muscle inside him with each slow, brutal thrust.

It wasn’t true.

He knew from having been forced to witness the punishment of other traitors that not everyone bled. And while he’d heard the rumor that those who didn’t bleed were deviants who had sought out the experience before, in his youth, he’d been curious enough — and horrified enough by the fates of those who _did_ bleed horribly — to seek out the expertise of a royal physician.

The old Olkari had assured him that it was very much possible for Galra to survive such an attack from a fellow Galra, no matter how brutal, provided the victim could keep his wits about him enough to offer no resistance. The tract's lining was thick and slick enough to protect itself from the many spines that lined a Galra cock.

An evolutionary defensive feature, the physician had called it, or else, he'd theorized, a relic from back when their culture hadn’t been so repulsed by affection and vulnerability between males.

Lotor hadn’t told anyone what he’d discovered, and had warned the physician to keep his mouth shut about such things around other Galra if he wanted to live long. Embarrassed and uncomfortable, Lotor also hadn’t asked the Olkari about whether there were actually any Galra who lived up to the rumors of seeking out being so violated.

To now be accused of such a thing…

Lotor grit his teeth as Sendak railed him so hard that Lotor’s jaw slapped backwards into the stocks.

He couldn’t imagine how much worse this was going to get now that the crowd thought they were dealing with a deviant in addition to a traitor.

The crowd started to close in, curious and bolstered by the revelation of Lotor’s impurity.

Sendak gave a loud grunt and emptied himself inside Lotor with a series of shudders. When he pulled out, Lotor could feel the slick black come falling in goopy sheets down past his thighs, splattering on the floor.

There wasn’t a pause between Sendak stepping away and another officer taking his place, immediately forcing his way into Lotor, the stretch not as intense, but painful and sore nonetheless.

This one jeered as he fucked.

“He really is bloodless! Not a drop! He’s fucked out — his asshole’s forgotten how to bleed entirely!”

He went on.

There were now officers pressing in close from all sides, a few of them getting within a couple paces, still held back by indecision, but gravitating ever nearer, drawn in by curiosity, malice, and the crowd’s pushing. All were talking about his divergent nature. Wondering if his throat would bleed.

For a moment, desperate to stop the comments, to not make this worse than it was already inevitably going to be, Lotor tried to clench down, but quickly jerked with new pain and let go, hissing and writhing.

He heard the officer behind him yelp in surprise at being squeezed, and then, after a few thrusts, the fucking stopped.

“Hey, I got a little blood from him! Looks like Sendak can’t fuck properly!”

“Sendak loosened him up for you, you small-dicked gremlin!” came the quick retort and the crowd laughed at whoever had made the mistake of insulting a respected commander.

As if to take his frustration out on Lotor, the embarrassed officer set a punishing pace that made Lotor’s joints ache in a near unbearable constant thrum as they chafed against the stocks.

Lotor wondered if the small bit of bleeding had bought him some reprieve or if the damage had already been done because he hadn’t bled at the outset.

Still.

Beneficial or not, he wasn’t going to be able to commit to doing that again. The stretch of being penetrated stung, yes, but the brief moment of flexing had truly felt like he was being ripped. Lotor was more terrified of contracting again _on accident_ than what would happen if he didn’t _on purpose_.

He wanted to cry again.

All this humiliation — for what?

For nothing.

He’d die as he lived, without any purpose or anyone to care.

Well, his _beloved_ generals might care. He wondered if they were still standing there with those expressions of shock. Had it been as surreal for them to watch their fearless leader get stripped naked by vermin hands as it had been for him to experience it? Were they regretting their betrayal? Or consoling themselves that he deserved it for striking down Narti?

The dick behind him was replaced with a new one.

He would have killed a dozen Nartis if it had given him a chance to forever escape the watchful eye of Zarkon’s witch.

He would have killed many more than that for the chance to deal just a single, crippling blow to his father.

His hair was tugged back from his face and cruel claws traced his lips. His mouth was forced open, and a large cock trailed black slick onto his chin. “Bite me and I’ll rip off your pretty half-breed ear.”

Then the tip was in his mouth, sliding easily and expelling more tart precome onto his tongue. With a panic, Lotor felt the serrating crest of the head run over his top lip, prickling as it cut in and Lotor opened his mouth wider, suddenly filled with horrible images of what might happen to his face.

“Look at him, he’s practically beside himself at the opportunity.”

“You think it’s the Altean in him that makes him such a weakling, desperate to serve bigger, better males?”

Lotor heart revolted at the idea of his mother’s lineage being so dragged and defaced, but the adrenaline blocked the hurt out as he desperately tried to remember if anyone ever survived being used this way. If his lips might open up to let the head pass, his throat certainly couldn’t. Would he die in the stocks after all, after already suffering the injustice of being labeled a pervert? He’d never asked the physician about this — it wasn’t very common, usually only performed on traitors whose rear ends were already destroyed, trailing blood and entrails. It was a final act of sadism that killed someone who was already dying even faster.

Shutting his eyes and offering up a prayer to all the old idols of both Daibazaal and Altea, he forced his throat to stay relaxed as the tip first poked it, then slipped in.

Supreme discomfort scratched at his senses, and he almost swallowed around it to push it back out, only just barely holding onto his determination to not squeeze. It thrust in once, twice, and then pulled out. Lotor finally swallowed and coughed, trying to get the stretching and itching feeling out. Spit and precome drooled off his lip.

“Even his throat’s not bleeding!”

And now Lotor in earnest believed the Olkari physician’s assertions that being able to survive such things was very much an evolutionary feature.

It hurt, certainly. Stung like hell to have been stretched out like that, but even with the bumping and jerking of the pounding in his ass, the cock had come out of his mouth clean of blood, something that Lotor would have had trouble believing if the evidence wasn’t less than a handspan from his own eyes.

With a snarl, the officer shoved his cock back inside Lotor’s mouth, and Lotor had to once again put all his monumental self-control, honed by millennia of resilience, into not gagging or swallowing and risking having his throat worn out to bloody ribbons.

His ass was again filled with hot, sticky come, which again rolled down his thighs in fat dribbles as one cock was replaced by another, this one so large that it was accompanied by bloodthirsty cheering.

The officer shoved in fast — so fast that Lotor responded by involuntarily clenching, immediately regretting it as a fire of pain shot through him, and he cried out, tightening his throat, and —

Both cocks pulled out as Lotor thrashed, the cheering rising and all eyes on the cobalt blue blood dribbling out of Lotor’s mouth. Behind him, officers were clapping his current rapist on the shoulders, commending him on his large dick that finally taught the prince his place. The officer standing immediately before him was laughing about how even a whore’s throat has limits.

Despite the crowd’s jubilation, Lotor thought, spitting blood out and moving his jaw to get a sense of how damaged his throat was, this wasn’t as bad as it could be. A little blood from each end would keep the crowd satisfied that he was getting his due punishment. Hopefully, it would keep them from torturing him in other ways. His fingers and feet were dangling uselessly at the mercy of anyone who wanted to break their small bones, and his torso was suspended and vulnerable in the space between the stocks. If anyone were to walk between those two panels…

Lotor had already accepted that he would die, _and die horribly_ , after a lot of humiliation. But every nerve in him screamed to not also be tortured past all sense.

He didn’t want this.

He didn’t deserve this.

And if tortured, he didn’t think he would be able to hold on to the dignity that he had sheltered so deep inside himself.

Small and half-breed though he may be, Lotor clung to the strengths he _did_ have. His speed, intellect, skill, and resilience were everything to him. His silence in the face of what was happening to him, his control over his own body's instinct to clench, those were things that he could be proud of even as he faced death with no accomplishments.

But if he started screaming — what would there be left to be proud of in those last moments before the execution?

He grit his teeth as, once more, his asshole was penetrated by the officer with the big cock, who seemed to have finally had his fill of praise and now wanted more blood and an orgasm. Lotor had to put all his effort into not struggling as the size brought tears to his eyes.

Even when a new cock was pushed into his mouth, the burning discomfort in his throat sublime, it still took much more effort to keep his rectum relaxed than his throat. The dick that was distending his whole abdomen seemed to test every ring of muscle inside him in a series of pops. Maybe the officer had a uniquely shaped cockhead. Maybe he was a half-breed — rare in Zarkon’s higher command, but possible. Lotor wished he could see.

It felt like a whole fist had been shoved inside him, which, considering some of the Galra cocks he’d seen in his life, there was a good chance that it was indeed that large.

Over and over, it tested his control as it brushed ever deeper into him, seeming to find its way to where Sendak had not been able to reach, making the unyielding surface of the stocks cut into Lotor’s skin.

Lotor writhed, desperate to get away, unable to do so and unable to try to force the officer out, ever mindful of that dangerous, potentially lethal cockhead somewhere deep inside him, pressing past his vitals, held at bay only by some freak mutation that required Lotor’s full compliance with his own rape.

“I can’t believe it. The little pillow prince traitor is enjoying it!”

Lotor let the words wash over him without taking offense.

They were going to accuse him of that many more times before they were done with him. Maybe accuse him of worse things than that, if such a thing even existed.

But the words were now echoing around all behind him and even the cock in his mouth halted its thrusting as the officer stopped to listen to what was being said.

“What’s that?”

“He’s enjoying it, the little holster! His dick’s all flushed and weepy back here.”

Lotor blanched. If his mouth wasn’t full of dick he wasn’t allowed to squeeze in any way, he would have argued — hissed indignantly.

How _dare_ they accuse him of such a thing?

Lotor was ready to bite down on the shaft between his teeth in pure fury at the accusation, consequences be damned.

Then something much worse than an accusation happened.

He felt his own dick twitch.

And he knew immediately that it _was_ , “flushed and weepy,” exactly as the officer had said. He could feel cold air on it, could feel the dribble of precome pull at the sensitive head as it dripped in long strands to the ground. His cock strained, hard and desperate, against the surface of the stocks in which his hips and feet were trapped.

Lotor was shaking. He didn’t know when the trembling had started and he didn’t know if he could make it stop. He tried, but it only got worse.

Enjoying it. He was _enjoying_ it.

It didn’t matter that he could describe exactly no part of this experience as enjoyable — someway and somehow, he’d gotten erect.

Unheard of.

Of all the corrective or punitive rapes he’d ever had the great misfortune of witnessing, whether they had ended bloody or with a clean execution, he’d never — _never_ — seen or heard of any Galra getting erect from such a demeaning experience.

Silence reigned in the room. Officers were shuffling around to get a better look for themselves. The officer still in Lotor’s mouth seemed to be shocked in place, but finally told someone standing nearby, “Go check it out.”

Lotor watched endless booted feet shuffle or march or edge around to go see something behind him that Lotor could neither own nor explain.

His shaking got more violent, and he forgot that he had to keep his muscles loose, accidentally hurting himself on the large, unmoving erection in his ass.

Why was this happening?

What had he done to deserve such a horrifying defacement to his identity and personhood?

Had he somehow misunderstood the physician in what was required to survive? But others had pulled off what he was attempting without such a treacherous reaction from their body. Was he somehow defective, and had simply never known, because he’d had no reason or chance to? Had someone —

Lotor gasped at the thought, choked on the cockhead still in his throat, squeezing his eyes at the horrible pain that blossomed in his neck, grateful that at least the officer was still waiting for confirmation of this bizarre development and wasn’t moving. His struggling earned him a cuff over the ear, which jerked his head and tore his stinging his throat more.

Lotor blinked away the agony, trying to put his thoughts back on track to find a way to forgive himself. Had someone given him something? Injected him with something? He’d know, wouldn’t he? His Altean heritage made him very conscious of mind-altering substances.

His Altean heritage…

Lotor’s stomach dropped out and he suddenly had a horrible sense of vertigo.

Zarkon spoke from shockingly close behind him. “He continues to disappoint and disgust. To think I had tried to raise him as a Galra, to value strength. Integrity. Power. And instead, he squanders everything, choosing weakness.”

There was a pause, and the silence was so complete that Lotor could hear nothing but his own shuddering breath as it trembled and whistled through wet nostrils. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t cry.

“I’ll understand if none of you want to sully yourself with it. After everyone who can stomach doing their duty and raping it is done… bring the dogs in. Maybe it’ll enjoy those as well.”

And then a single set of footfalls echoed away towards the throne.

“It,” his own father had called him. The same pronoun that Galra language used for slaves.

There was some grumbling and derisive snorts from the crowd, all of them now turning back to Lotor, all of them disgusted with him. The cock in his ass pulled out a smidge only to slam in harder than ever, pushing Lotor’s willpower to its very brink. The officer in front of him had recovered too, and was now fucking Lotor’s throat so hard that Lotor couldn’t breathe, his nose flattened against the officer’s abdomen with every slam. His hands were full of cocks pressing in from all angles, demanding that he stroke them, which he tried, as best he could, struggling to get his fingers around the thick shafts, praying that this new fury with him wouldn’t spill over in any worse way.

From all directions, officers were now spilling invective on what exactly should be done with a freak like him — how vile he was, how he deserved to live incontinent, how he should be thrown to the slaves because that was all he was good for, how if no one’s dick managed to rip him apart, they’d do it with their claws.

Disgusting.

Vile.

Vermin.

Foul.

Something wet splashed his face, rolling into his mouth, followed closely by a shocking smell and taste. Lotor wanted to _roar_ as he flinched from the urine.

Never.

Never in ten thousand years had he seen such a thing happen to anyone else.

And yet the treatment paled in comparison to the betrayal he felt. How could his body react this way? What weakness tainted him to allow this sort of thing to happen?

Other parts of his body were being pissed on, his torso dripping with it, and the dick in his ass was replaced by an equally large one. He could hear them calling out, asking if anyone bigger was available, determined to rip him no matter how resilient he was.

Lotor kept his eyes shut and tried to block it out as the punishment that he’d been condemned to finally ramped up in earnest.

The officers behind him now and then tried to figure out how to fit two cocks in him. They failed every time but left his rim stinging and, evidently, judging by the cheering, bleeding. His face was slapped and beaten, his hair pulled, with officers demanding that he open his eyes and look up at them as they defiled him.

Which he did. It revolted him to see them, but he did as ordered before they had a chance to punish him violently for disobeying.

He lost track of the number of cocks that he was forced to take, the faces of officers who stood around berating him, yanking at him, saying they preferred the other end.

And all the while, as he was destroyed from every angle, his cock bounced against the stocks, throbbing with its need for attention. Lotor had noticed to his horror that it responded most to the wickedly sized cocks that had him blinking out tears. The attempts at penetrating his ass with two cocks simultaneously also sent horrible throbs through his dick, no matter how unsuccessful, almost as if the idea was more arousing than the follow through.

Sometimes, on the biggest cocks, while he was focusing on not squeezing, feeling the crown of the tip slipping through him, his arousal spiked so hard that he felt his hips start a tempo of their own before he hurriedly reasserted control.

He figured out exactly what the problem was — the bigger the dick, the more of his attention was required to keep himself unflinching. The more attention to how exactly that cockhead felt stroking through him…

Lotor wished over and over that he didn’t have a cock. If it was going to be so far out of his control, he didn’t want it. So many millennia spent on trying to master his mind and the useful parts of his body, only to suddenly get so blindsided by something he’d barely ever used.

He was starting to wonder if, in the end, all his efforts even mattered. All the cocks coming out of his throat were now kissed with blue, and he suspected it was only a matter of time before whatever biological protection he had was overcome by sheer quantity.

Then he heard the first baying of dogs, and, if he could have, he would have sighed in relief.

Daibazaal canines were all roughly the size of Galra or larger. Luckily for Lotor, however, the larger breeds were used in industry. The palace hounds that were running towards him now probably only weighed as much as someone of Sendak’s size and would have cocks that were only somewhat larger than those of the officers.

Even more fortunately, their cocks lacked any form of cruel barbs.

The officers currently in him pulled out. He strained his neck to see how many dogs there were, but it was out of the field of vision the stocks afforded him. He sighed, and relaxed through his shoulders, trying to work out the tension, but that, too, required more range of motion than he had.

He was bone-weary. Not just from the fucking and the mental strain of humiliation. Hanging like this, his joints held in place by crude holes without any padding, roughly jostled against these restraints for hours on end in the same repetitive motions, he was stiff and bruised in every ridge and curve of his body. That wasn’t even counting the bruises that cruel knuckles had left behind on his face and ribs and hips.

When he finally did die tomorrow, it might be more dignified than getting gutted in the throne room, but his last hours were going to be plenty miserable enough to regret everything he’d done to get to this point in his life.

There was hot breath on his ass, and Lotor froze, once more jerked out of his escapist reflections.

The crowd around him was quiet but thrumming with excitement.

There was a bit more panting from the dog, then a huff, and then the whole stocks structure shook with the weight of its front paws landing on it. Lotor kept a straight face but felt his body flush in shame.

The cock missed the first time, sliding off wildly as the overexcited dog rocked the stocks and paced the floor, its claws clacking on the polished surface. The head missed again the second and third time, and was now being thrust so mindlessly through the slippery mess on Lotor’s ass and tailbone that someone had to run up and guide it where it was supposed to go.

Lotor yelped involuntarily when it penetrated. He snapped his mouth shut immediately, but the damage had already been inflicted.

Around him, the tense atmosphere broke, and officers were laughing, clasping fists with each other, patting their neighbors heartily on the back. They’d found a way to break the freak. And behind him, the dog was fucking him so fast and full that his body started to slip into shock from overstimulation.

Lotor grit his teeth, deliberating. He shut his eyes, indecision giving him a headache that settled in a greasy layer over every other horrible thing that had happened today, making it hard to think.

With great effort, through a conflict that cut down to his very soul, Lotor prised his jaw open and began to cry out in time with the thrusts.

It wasn’t difficult to keep going once he started.

As soon as he broke that dignity taboo, the tears came on their own, unbidden but just as effective as the yells and begging that were falling from his lips. They squeezed past his shut lids and rolled in heavy globs to his chin where they were shaken off by the force of the dog’s powerful thrusts.

The volume of the crowd had dropped at his yelling, and then a great crescendo of celebration rose up and subsumed their surprise. Officers everywhere screamed and cheered in malicious delight. All participants had finally gotten from Lotor what they’d craved more than getting off and more than hurting him. They’d wanted proof of his fragility and inferiority, and _here it was_. Nevermind that anyone in his place would have broken hours ago, that no other public rape had ever lasted this gruesomely long.

No one remembered that just as they’d all chosen to forget that not all victims of punitive rapes bled.

To much complaining and laughter, the dog pulled out and wandered off without coming. Lotor calmed to a state of desperate panting, trying to play up some sobs but unable to conquer his own pride.

“Not even the dog wants that worn out hole.”

There was a bit of a commotion as another dog was led to him, and it too mounted the stocks, aiming blindly for Lotor’s hole. Lotor realized then that he was on the verge of prolapse. After hours of doing the exact opposite, when he tried to squeeze his hole closed to keep the dog out, he found his way barred by what felt like a swollen mass of tissue.

The second dog pushed in and Lotor resumed yelping helplessly.

He sounded so noxiously pathetic that, whenever he resurfaced from the despair of being debased below anything that even a slave had ever had to suffer at the hands of Zarkon, he was surprised that the voice he heard was his own. Every time it registered, he wished the dog’s cock was big enough to kill him.

It was then that Lotor got that first, bitter, metallic taste of truth.

He wasn’t _acting_ broken.

He _was_ broken.

Sometime between the rape starting and now, he’d traded in his priorities. When had saving himself from more pain become more important than dignity? When had he decided that dying in the stocks was acceptable so long as it made the humiliation not last as long?

This time, when the dog pulled out and Lotor’s rhythmic outbursts ceased, he didn’t need to force the sobbing.

It came from somewhere deep inside him.

He cried about everything he’d ever wanted or needed and been denied. He sobbed and he pitied himself because everything hurt and nothing was a redeeming spotlight in the blemish that was his life. His father cruel, his friends sellouts, his ambitions insubstantial, his body unreliable, his mind feeble, his honor worthless, and his dignity destroyed. Loved by no one, valued by no one. The story of his life. The last three hundred years — finding a team he could rely on, pushing towards a goal with them, believing in impending victory — it all seemed to be salt in this wound, giving him hope for something he should never have believed he deserved.

Lotor lost himself in the sobbing, his mind latching on to the comfort of his own misery — the dogs, the officers, the pain — all of it falling away, blotted out by the force of how much his chest stung with a desperate need to be loved, to be saved, to be given a hand up out of the hell that Zarkon had made his life.

He cried until he had no more energy, until the ragged, wet breaths stopped flooding his ears. When he looked up, the last of the crowd was filing out, still laughing and talking, happily bumping shoulders at the good show. The dogs were gone. His rectum was most certainly prolapsed now, but considering the lack of agony, he supposed his other organs were still were they ought to be and not scattered across the floor is a spattering of cobalt and cerulean viscera.

Someone was pushing the stocks in the direction of one of the side doors. They didn't bother with bothering to pull Lotor out, intending to parade his defeated body down the corridors for anyone who hadn’t been invited. All the common soldiers, the slaves…

Lotor didn’t want to experience it.

He’d experienced enough today.

He slipped into unconsciousness.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

He woke up in a dimly lit room.

The cockpit of a ship.

He was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat.

Letting his head fall to his right, he saw the pilot wearing a tell-tale Blade of Marmora mask.

“Rescue?”

“No. We took a gamble. Decided you might know secrets that are worthwhile to us. Secrets of state that not even Zarkon’s commanders might be privy to.”

Lotor closed his eyes and nodded, not sure if the other saw him. He couldn’t move or talk much.

Opening an eye and looking down at himself out of the very corner, he saw that he was dressed in a fresh flight suit and his own armor.

“M’generals?”

“If they’re smart, they’ll flee at the first whiff of you having escaped.”

“How far are we?”

“Not far enough. As soon as you can move around, I’m throwing you into the ship I’m towing and sending you ahead. I’ll wheel around and return to the nearest base.”

“Towing?”

“Your own ship. Do try to make it in one piece. You’ll be very valuable to us if you reach the rendezvous.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then you die in space. Might be preferable to how you would have died before, but still rather senseless.”

Lotor thought vaguely that dying sounded really good right about now. Sounded like a long sleep to recover from everything that had happened.

“Revenge on Zarkon is possible, and it’s close at hand. With Voltron and the Alliance, you’ll be able to do outside of the system what you were unable to do within it.”

Lotor rolled his head back to stare into the starry void ahead.

Maybe.

Maybe he’ll try.

One last time, just so no one could say he didn’t.


End file.
